


We'll Have Our Wings

by Venturous



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Backstory, Child, Divorce, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 33 Carolyn Knapp wondered why she'd never found love. All she ever did was fly from place to place. Years later, this seemed terribly ironic, but at least she got Arthur (and GERTI!) out of the deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Have Our Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> Thank you, Sath, for your generous and open prompt, which helped me get to know the incredible woman who is the brains behind MJN Air. She's a treasure! I hope you enjoy your story.

**We'll Have Our Wings**  

 

1980 

Tugging her skirt down and smoothing her hair into place, Carolyn took a deep breath and walked into the cabin as if nothing happened. As if that asshole pilot hadn't just groped her in the navigators bay. She hoped her lipstick wasn’t smeared.

“14C needs another vomit bag” Her colleague Sandra whispered as she passed, never breaking her professional smile.

At the end of another long day, Carolyn kicked off her navy heels and putting up her tired feet, sipped gin over ice from the minibar, grateful that cabin crew can drink. She wished the damn pilots could too, frankly, since a hangover might tamp down Captain Randy-hands libido. She could do without that sleaze feeling her up on the flight deck every time she brought him coffee.

The ancient city of Athens hummed and glittered outside her window, but it could be Copenhagen or Cairo, for all she cared. She’s long since given up on the illusion of glamour in her job. It's a joke, really, when all you do is shuttle from airport to hotel and back again.

Flipping the channels on the telly she found only news and sports in English , so she put on a dubbed movie she’s seen before, a mystery about a cop and a beautiful photographer. and turned off the audio to let the story tell itself with images.

As she began to doze, Carolyn especially loved the way the photographer looks at the cop, and wonders why she has never met anyone she could love, and how she has ended up 32, feeling old and tired, alone in an Athens hotel room.

===

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry, darlin’ I didn’t mean to knock into ya like that!”

“You oaf, you’ve spilled coffee all over my blouse! I have to be on deck in an hour!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry love! Can I get you a new one? Is there a shop….?”

“Not at six in the morning, you buffoon. I’ll have to wear yesterdays and hope it doesn't stink.” She shoved by the apologetic man, disgusted. “Excuse me, looking where you were going would have been helpful.”

Hustling to her gate Carolyn determined she had just enough time, and ducked into the ladies where the sink was at least big enough to rinse out her blouse. _There, well, maybe I can wear it wet, it will dry soon enough._ She’s quite sure she doesn’t want to smell like yesterday’s passengers. Her lace bra is visible through the wet cotton blouse, but that will have to do. She straightened her jacket and headed for the plane.

There's Sandra, chattering away to Kevin as they prepped the meals for first class. They looked up and give her that “late again?” look and she wanted to smack both of them. _Who ever decided to have men stewards, anyway? As if there weren’t a thousand other professions men were already entitled to._ She smouldered.

“I’ll get the coffee set up, and check the heads.” She didn’t ask. She had seniority on both of them, how dare they get all hoity on her.

Later, once the preflight announcements were underway and they were taxiing to the runway Carolyn noticed the Aussie gent who’d coffeed her this morning sitting in first class.

“Well, hello,” he said, cheerfully. “I see you cleaned up nicely.”

She stared a second too long before recovering herself.

Faking the perfect smile she said “Why of course, sir!” It’s the Glen Aire way! Everything ship-shape.”

He smiled back at her, quite sincerely, which caused her to wobble just a bit before moving on.

“Oh, I know. I quite like this wee airline. Could you please get me another gin?”

“Ah, I’ll get your regular attendant, sir, I’m working cabin class today.” She scurried forward.

“Sandy, 4A wants another gin.”

Sandy was fumbling in the galley with breakfast trays and told Carolyn “Busy! You get it!” and normally Carolyn would have stood her ground, but since it would delay her visit to the pilots, she reluctantly complied. Plenty of ice, a slice of lime, the good gin, and a wee bottle of tonic in case he wants it.

She delivered it with a flourish.

“Now see to it that you don’t spill that, sir.” She grinned at him, and he smiled back, widely. She could feel his eyes on her arse as she walked forward to the pilots’ door, and allowed her hips to sway just a bit.

“Echo Zero Eight One Alpha, Roger Schipol." Co-pilot Murphy was coordinating with ground navigation. Captain randy-hands looked up at her blankly.

“Where’s the coffee, girl? What do you think you’re here for?”

He stared at her front, and Carolyn remembered her transparent blouse. As she closed the door behind her she heard him muttering “stupid bint.”

The flight was rather lively for a morning flight. Rather a lot of passengers were having a tipple with their coffee, and turbulence meant that hot beverages were sloshing about .

Better than mopping up vomit, thought Carolyn, just before a German business man erupted all over his breakfast, slopping onto her shoes. It took all of her training and resolve not to lose it right there, and add her stomach contents, as well as her opinions, to the dreadful mess.

By the time they landed and wished everyone ‘good day to you, fly Glen Aire again soon!' with their falsely cheery wave, Carolyn was ready to quit her job.

Feeling wretched and filthy, she headed out of the gate and was surprised to feel someone touch her arm. She looked up into the amused gaze of that passenger, the Aussie.

“Come on, Lass, I’ll see you home, or wherever you’re going. It’s the least I can do.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but allowed her training to kick in. With a smile, she said, “Thank you! and your name would be…?”

By the time Gordon dropped her home at her little flat in Acock’s Green, Carolyn was quite surprised to have a proper date for Friday next.

=====

Gordon Shappey was a proud and unsubtle man, but he had learned it was not always advantageous to flash his wealth around if he wanted to get his way. He appreciated Carolyn for her sharp-eyed skepticism and robust sense of humor, and it was at least the third date before he made a move to get into her skirt. It was after a particularly passionate grope in his car one evening that he told her he was buying her employer.

She looked at him blankly at first, recalculating her summation of the man; then laughed out loud.

“You can’t buy Glen Aire! Just who do you think you are?”

After snogging her senseless, he murmured in her ear:

“I’m Gordon Shappey of Adelaide and I’ll do as I damn please, woman!”

Laughing, she towed him into her tiny flat by the tie.

 

1982

Carolyn was smug and silent as the corporate purchase was announced, a few weeks after her engagement. Her fellow cabin attendants were all in a tizzy about it: ‘who was this Australian interloper and hey, aren’t you dating an Aussie?’ It took forever before they finally put it all together. Sandra cornered her in the loo before Carolyn's last flight.

“You’re quitting? What are you going to do? Wont you miss the flying? What if we all lose our jobs? Aren't you going to stand up for us, Carolyn?“

Clearly they mistook her for someone who cared.

Carolyn Knapp and Gordon Shappey were married on the tarmac of a tiny airstrip on the Cote d’Azure, and then flew off in Gordon’s private jet for their honeymoon. She never imagined she could be so happy.

Despite his loud voice and coarse mannerisms, Gordon treated her like a queen, and she was thrilled by the lap of luxury she landed in. They flew around in Gordon’s little jet to all the beautiful places she had been but never seen. He showed her off like a jewel as they dined in fine restaurants in Rome, Tel Aviv, Amsterdam and London. Carolyn was so delighted to get outside of a hotel at long last, she dragged Gordon out to do things he hadn’t done in years.

“We’re in Copenhagen, and you want to go to the Zoo? You’re daft, woman!”

But he said it with a big grin, and played along. Her new husband, being 15 years her senior, could be a bit of a dud in the sheets, she discovered. But if she kept him moving and away from the liquor he actually performed quite a bit better.

“You’ve made a new man of me, Carolyn!” He beamed at her. “Of course we can go to the Grand Prix!”

Within six months she was pregnant, and Gordon was delighted.

“An heir! a prince for the Shappey fortune!” He danced around the bedroom with joy.

“Now then, Gordon dear, what if its a girl?”

He slapped her behind a bit too sharply and said “We’ll get busy makin’ another one then, shan't we?”

She was strangely silent. When he turned to look at her, she wasn’t smiling.

“And why can't your daughter inherit the business?”

He stared at her, puzzled for a moment, and then boomed his big laugh. “You are the cutest thing, darlin’. Just you worry about that little muffin in the oven and leave the business to me, alright sweetie?”

Years later, Carolyn would mark that moment the end of the honeymoon.

 

  
1983 

She was expecting the best, really she was. After their fairytale wedding and globe-hopping romance, why wouldn’t Carolyn be the happiest woman on earth? It was just a phase, first babies were difficult, weren’t they? And her mum, come all the way out from Birmingham, was just being a mother-in-law, wasn’t she? Julia Knapp pointed out everything she thought was wrong with Gordon Shappey as a husband and a father.

“He’s a good provider, Mother. You can’t argue with that.” Carolyn was exhausted, trying not to be crabby while she pumped her sore breast. She hadn’t slept in days, weeks. Arthur was fussy and didn’t sleep well; he either wouldn’t eat or was ravenous, draining her dry. She resisted her mother’s attempts to take charge, but it was a losing battle.

After mum went home they eventually settled into a new routine, but it wasn’t long before Carolyn realized how lonely she was. Gordon showed no skill with a cranky infant, and besides, he was rarely home. He wanted to see ‘his son’ when he was lively and cleaned up. Carolyn didn't want to complain, so she found a way to convince Gordon that Arthur needed the best possible care, and a nursemaid was hired.

As he grew, Arthur proved to be a sweet and gentle child, with emphasis on the gentle. He loved to laugh and sing, but never when his Da was around. He’d sit, wide-eyed, thumb in his mouth and on the verge of tears whenever Gordon tried to play with him. “You’re too loud and rough, Gordon. Take it easy!” Carolyn wished her husband could see the happy boy she knew during the week. It struck her that this obnoxious stranger descended on their little world every week or two, when she looked through Arthur’s eyes.

“A man needs to play with his own son!” He shouted, and the baby began to cry, and he looked around for his nanny. Carolyn knew better than to say another word.

They had a breakthrough when Gordon arrived one day with a big package, and Arthur tore it open gleefully to find a large stuffed aeroplane, fuzzy blue, yellow and white. He squealed with delight, and Carolyn watched in amazement as her husband ran around the nursery calling “Zoom, zoooom!” soaring the stuffed plane about, with chubby Arthur toddling after him, giggling.

Once this connection was made, Gordon brought toys and books about planes and when he was present made a better show of being a father. His instincts weren’t great, however, and his patience was short. But there were times when Carolyn watched her two boys playing ‘aeroplane’ with delight, and hope.

But they saw less and less of Gordon, and Carolyn, climbing the walls in the outskirts of Adelaide, hired a gardener and tore into the landscape, creating a playground for Arthur and resurrecting the old rose garden.

Her husband would fly in for a weekend, and dash off again so soon, there was never time to adjust to one another’s company.

“Gordon,” she inquired sweetly at breakfast one Sunday morning, after a terrific row the night before, about how he was never home, and didn’t he love her anymore, “Could we plan a little family holiday, take that plane of yours somewhere together? I believe your son would appreciate that now, he’s grown up enough.” She eyed him over her coffee.

Gordon reacted slowly, all that gin, you know, and uttered something about ‘schedule’ and ‘paying for all this’ without making eye contact. She wisely dropped it for the moment.

“Martha, could we have more of those lovely mangos, please? And a spot more coffee, thank you so much.” Carolyn watched her husband without looking at him. He was studying the newspaper.

“I’ll think about it.” Was his gruff acknowledgement? She knew the seed was planted.

That first trip they flew just an hour or so to some beach town, and Arthur was over the moon. Gordon allowed them in the cockpit, and his copilot let the small boy sit on his lap and ‘steer’ the plane. Carolyn read a book and dozed happily during the flight.

All night and day at the beach Arthur chattered about ‘Gerti’ this and ‘Gerti’ that.

“Why does your aero have a ladies name, Da? “Arthur asked Gordon 

“It’s the call sign for the plane, son. An old fashioned name for an antique aeroplane.”

“It doesn’t seem very old.”

“Well, it’s a fine machine, ahead of its time, but getting up there in years and miles now. Still, for a family plane, it’s fine, I think.”

And a family plane it became. Each month Gordon would arrange for a family excursion. A special bin was dedicated for toys. When Arthur was at home he wore his aviator’s goggles and ran about swooshing his toy planes through the air, counting the days until Gordon returned. It really didn’t matter where they went; the effect of flying with his father did wonders for Arthur, and Carolyn believed she had created a family at last.

When Arthur started school, he was incredibly shy, and had a hard time in the classroom. Gordon got angry and blamed Carolyn for making him a pansy. Arthur had already learned not to cry around his Da, now he learned not to cry at school. But after the first very difficult few weeks, he found there were many wonderful things to do and play with other than aeroplanes, and that he could even have friends. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t wait to get to school in the morning, because it was brilliant.

Now that Arthur was sorted at school, Carolyn realized how isolated she had become. She had wonderful helpful staff, but they weren’t the same as friends. All this time in a new city and she had no one to confide in. Carolyn wanted to go back to work. Gordon would not hear of it, and the argument earned her weeks of miserable arguments and sleepless nights. Eventually she worked out that volunteering for a posh cause would be acceptable, and thus she volunteered for the South Australia Museum.

At the museum she connected with so many interesting people, and before long landed a part time development job. She felt no need to inform her husband about the paycheck; he didn’t travel in charity circles (although he did write generous checks when she asked him to, especially when she hinted at the Shappey name on an eventual exhibit.) She felt a little sneaky, but triumphant, when she opened a bank account in her own name once again.

 

1992 A Change of Venue

By the time Arthur was nine Carolyn didn't feel the least bit married. Her husband made a big show of not wanting to have sex with her, but she knew he had plenty of pretty flight attendants when he was on the road, and they were more than happy to 'take care of him' for 'tips.' And, when he was around, he'd come in late and drunk and wouldn’t be able to get it up anyway. She was well aware he was blaming her for his shortcomings.

Carolyn knew she wasn’t bad looking for forty-two. She’s had more than one flirtation that could have been something more, if she was interested in being an adulterer. Mostly she was disappointed in her life, disgusted with her spouse, and bored, bored, bored. Thus, when Gordon came back one week and threw a fit over Arthur’s mediocre grades, and insisted it was time for a good old-fashioned boarding school, she seized her opportunity.

“Why Gordon, darling, you’re a genius. That’s exactly what he needs. I have an 'in' at The Royal School, Wolverhampton, where they will shape him right up. I’ll get right on it.”

Gordon Shappey was left without a thing to criticism, which left him speechless.

When Carolyn flew back to Birmingham with Arthur to get him settled at school, she knew full well she is not returning to Adelaide. It took Gordon about four months to realize this. Soon after he arrived at her parents' house unannounced, drunk and hanging on the arm of a buxom blond.

"I'm his driver." She said, helpfully.

Carolyn slams the door in his face, telling the 'driver' to have her husband call her when he sobered up.

After this visit, Carolyn's sister Ruth was aghast.

“Carol, this is terrible! You’ve got to get a divorce!”

“I can't, not just now, Ruth. I'm working on a plan...”

"You still have time to get remarried. You're only 42!"

Their mother chimed in, agreeing with Ruth, and a fine row was underway, complete with shouting, cup-slamming (nothing broken, so not the English way!) and door slamming. At the end of it, Carolyn disappeared for a day, returning only to pack her things.

"I have my own flat now."

"Oh, honey, you can stay here!” Julia was wringing her hands, literally twisting them in her apron. “I didn't mean that you should leave!" Ruth stood smugly by.

"You must bring my grandchild by to see me!" Her mother's voice rose to pitiful, following her down the walk.

Carolyn holed up in her new flat for the next few days, reviewing her situation. Her son needed his (very expensive) schooling. She needed him to keep him away from his father. Well, the school itself helped with that. A bitter divorce at this point would only jeopardize Arthur's well-being and education. She knew her son wasn't academic material. She wasn't about to rush to judgment, but she suspected he might not even go for A levels. But she was determined to give him the most positive environment possible. That was why she needed to live here. Carolyn would have preferred that he didn't board, but Gordon wouldn't hear of it.

So, she had to let her husband _think_ he had his way. This was something Carolyn had become quite good at. And after three days, she had a plan. She spent a lovely weekend with Arthur, hearing about how brilliant the new school was, and even took him to visit his grandmother. And then she set out to tracking down her husband and seeing if they couldn't have a proper meeting.

Which is how she came to be waiting one evening in the executive lounge at Heathrow for Gordon to fly in from somewhere. Carolyn hadn’t been in an airport bar in almost ten years, and she marveled at all the peculiar and familiar sounds and smells surrounded her. There was that faint whiff of jet fuel, of recycled air and stale sweat, slept-in clothes and too much antiperspirant. The hum of the place was different from an ordinary restaurant, as if the jet engines were powering the whole place, lending a literal vibration.  The ceiling was high and the windows were outsized, so the sky lent its color to every reflective surface.

Since Gordon's flight had been delayed yet again, she had come up here for the view of the sky, as the clouds thinned out and the setting sun put on a show. The baggage trains and fuel trucks and jet tows carried on just as always, making a strange silent ballet behind the glass. She was on her second single malt, nursed slowly over ice. Carolyn swore she would switch to coffee if she became any more nostalgic.

“Do you come here often?"

That pathetic line would have been offensive, except that it was delivered in the most deliciously plummy male voice she had ever heard. She turned to study its source.

The man was forty-something, tall-ish, ordinary build, neither fat nor thin. His hair was full: dark and wavy with a rebellious streak of grey. He had that wind-burned look that pilots get, despite not flying in open cockpits. He looked good to her.

Carolyn waited a good long time, raised and eyebrow, and, without smiling, asked him:

"And who might you be, you eloquent devil?"

“Captain Douglas Richardson, English Air, at your service, mademoiselle.”

“You seem a bit inebriated for a pilot, Captain.” She pointedly eyed his glass of whisky.

“Ah, yes, well. Just landed, and glad to kick back for a few days. I've just been on the Hong Kong run, and that's a tour, I'll tell you. It must be the paperwork, but it takes forever to get in and out of those airports.”

He took a long swallow and waved to the barman.

“And what brings you here, Miss..?"

She smirked. Nice try.

“Mrs. Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, of...

“Oh, I know that name. Your husband is somewhat of a legend."

"Is he, now?" She was amused. His inflection was deadly - he sounded almost sincere yet completely mocking at the same time.  She mirrored his delivery: "Do tell: is it for his business prowess, or something else?"

 Douglas smirked into his glass, then raised it, draining the golden liquor from the ice.

"Bartender, another please, and skip the soda."

"Taliskers, I'm impressed."

 "Hmm, most people think it tastes like creosote. Not often I meet a lady who knows her single malts." He looked at her approvingly.

Carolyn had almost bit her tongue when she let that comment loose, thinking, don’t give this lout anything to work with. But now she watched him closely, detecting something not usual, something different than your average charmer in an airport bar. Not really trying to get into her pants, then. She was both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“Do you like flying for England Air, Captain Richardson?”

“Douglas, please.” He sipped his whisky. “Well, do you want to official answer or what I really think?”

She laughed, deciding that she liked him. They exchanged horror stories, and time flew, which was delightful, really, until she heard her own name over the PA and realized it was late, and Gordon's flight was in.

“I have to dash!” she said, momentarily flustered, sliding off the bar stool and verifying that she could still walk properly in her heels. “It's been a pleasure, Douglas. I do hope we meet again. But, please, do work on your pickup lines. You can do so much better.”

He smirked briefly, shook her hand dutifully, then slipped a business card into her palm.

“If you ever need anything, Carolyn, anything at all, ring me up.”

She looked up at him, surprised, reading nothing the least bit sly or mocking in his gaze. It unnerved her momentarily, but she laughed it off, tossed the card in her purse and trotted off to meet her husband.

 

Carolyn set her plan in motion skillfully. She stroked Gordon's ego and told him how much she missed him, flirting through little touches to his arm, his thigh, his hair, and demure glances at appropriate moments. She suggested, obliquely, so that it might seem like his idea, that they could have regular rendezvous like this, and family weekends and holidays with Arthur, and it would be better for all of them. And Gordon appeared to eat it all up exactly as intended.

They spent the weekend in a lovely new hotel at Canary Wharf, and Carolyn’s strategy was to keep them in the room for the entire weekend. She gave a grand performance, enticing him with a strip tease, praising his tepid erection, convincing him she had missed him terribly. She even rubbed herself off while he watched.

At breakfast she invoked the care and feeding of Arthur, the Heir, as their mutual goal. Gordon seemed happy and on board with her plans. She had neglected to state outright that she wasn’t returning to Adelaide, rather she spoke of ‘a few more months to get him really settled in properly.’ 

Smiling at him over the toast and jam, she spoke “You can fly to us just about anywhere, can’t you?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yes dear. Actually, I’ve found this nice little airstrip near here, called Fitton. Good place to fly into when we’re here.”

“That’s so convenient! Let’s plan a few trips for the fall, so our little airman can earn his wings.

“Hmmm, well, I’ll squeeze in a visit or two.

“Darling, Arthur is your only son. He things the world of you, and he’s here at a strange school far from home. I want him to know how much we love him, Gordon.” She grew serious.

Her husband looked momentarily guilty, eyes shifting away.

“You know all he talks about know are aeroplanes, and how he’s going to have an airline like his Da.” She beamed at him.

“Well, she gave him a little peck of a kiss, and got up, wrapping her silk robe tightly closed over her full bosom, “give it some thought, dear, and let me know what your schedule can bear.”

Carolyn began to walk away, and Gordon caught her by the wrist.

“I’ll be back November, I’ll let you know which weekend. We can go to Brittany or something, wherever the weather is nice. Then something wonderful for Christmas, will that do?”

“Of course, my love. Now, come back to bed.”

 

Epilogue

Over the next few years Carolyn researched and hired the best divorce attorney in the Midlands, with whom she laid plans for the divorce, to be launched when Arthur knew what he wanted after secondary school. She leveraged her museum contacts and landed a lovely development job with a huge trust created to preserve a family castle.

She kept up the good cheer about family trips no matter how she had to grit her teeth, and made sure her son had at least an opportunity to know his father. When Gordon’s impatience collided with Arthur’s inattention. She did her best to keep him from harm.

Carolyn had a plan, and it was a good one. And if she were patient enough, and clever, and a bit lucky, her boy would always have his Gerti.


End file.
